if we loved again, swear I'd love you right
by no white horse for me
Summary: Based off Back to December by Taylor Swift. Camille and Logan split up six years ago, and she wanted to make it right. But a nasty surprise is in store for her when she gets to Minnesota. And now, well, now she hates Minnesota. And Logan. Lomille


**So, this is roughly based off Back to December, by my absolute idol Taylor Swift, who i had the ultimate pleasure in seeing her Speak Now concert tour with my two best friends, and when Taylor came down to the back of the audience, like right in front of where we were sitting, my friends and I were doing this really weird dance and she saw us and giggled and my friends and i just looked at each other and had like a small freak out. Anyway, so read and review and I will be posting again today, maybe another songfic by beautiful Taylor, but maybe. And I'm thinking of starting a Lomille multichapter so let me know if you think i should!  
>HPloveofmylife<strong>

You knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd take you back. So why are you standing here, on his front porch, bundled up in about 5 jackets and shivering? Who knew Minnesota was so cold? And you can't feel your feet, even though you're wearing ugg boots and about 4 pairs of socks. You push your flyaway hair out of your eyes and knock once – hesitantly, mind – on the heavy oak door.

"I'll get it, guys!" A voice calls, and even though you should know the voice, it doesn't register. Face it; you haven't seen these boys in a little over 6 years. It'll be a wonder if they even remember your name. The door slides open, and a familiar face peeks out. You blink because you know this boy – vaguely – but it doesn't seem like he remembers you.

"Can I help you?" The short boy asks in a friendly tone, but the door doesn't open fully.

You suck in a deep breath and recite to yourself 'tell them hi, ask if you can to talk to _him_ and this will all be okay.' You've been mumbling that to yourself ever since your best friend convinced you to jump on a plane and fly all the way out here to see a boy who's probably forgotten your name. "Hi. My name's Camille Roberts. You're Carlos Garcia, right?"

The boy's jaw drops as he takes you in, and his eyes widen to the size of tennis balls. And then the door flings open and there's two more boys peering out – one with blond hair and one with luscious brunette that almost matches yours. "Millie?" James Diamond whispers, and you can't help but smile because you'd forgotten about their little pet name for you.

"Hey, boys. Miss me?" You say with a cocky grin, and all of a sudden you're swept into their arms and they're shouting your name and laughing and spinning you around in the crisp snow. You feel as though you've never left. Eventually you pry yourself from James's tough grip, still giggling, and look up at the three of them. They're all grinning down at you with these childlike grins that speed up your heart just a little bit.

"You guys still in contact with Logan?" You ask immediately, and immediately your heart shatters as each and every one of their faces crumble to ashes. "What's wrong? Is he okay? Did he get hurt?" You demand, and the three best friends exchange funny looks, and then Kendall says quietly, "He's got a fiancée, Millie. He's with her now." You stare at your best friend for a minute, and it's like your heart has stopped beating. _Fiancée_ rings in your ears and tears blur your vision.

"I'm sorry, Millie." You hear James say quietly, and then Carlos pipes up, "He never stopped loving you, though. She's just a replacement." You don't say anything, just nod and smile and let the tears build up behind those strong brown eyes.

You say a brief goodbye to the boys, dig your hands in your pocket, promise Carlos you'll be back tomorrow, and walk away, your head down so that no one can see the tears sparkling in your dark brown orbs. You walk the streets of Minnesota with your brown curls tumbling over your shoulders and tears freezing on your cheeks and your hands as far into your pockets as you can make them.

You ask someone for directions to the nearest outdoor skating pond, and they tell you that it's just around the corner and down a woody path. You thank them and begin to walk with a renewed purpose in your step. You find the pond easily, and it's frozen over with skate cracks on the surface. The snow crunches under your boots and you shake just a little bit because it's so cold. You approach the frozen lake and stare at the person reflected there. It makes you sick to see yourself looking so weak and broken down. You scrape your hair off your neck, wipe at your eyes and rub off the make-up running down your cheeks before you sit down on a fallen tree covered in snow.

The tears begin slowly – just a single drop from each eye now and then, but then it's like something has broken inside you and you can't seem to stop the little shards of glass that tumble your cheeks and you hug your legs to your chest, rest your head on your knees and watch as the snow falls softly and silently on the ground. You feel broken and torn up inside. You came all the way from LA to get back a boy who you thought loved you only to find out that he's got a fiancé. _What, you expected different?_ A bitter voice hisses in your ears, and you flinch as though slapped. _You haven't seen the boy in 5 years. He's not going to spend years waiting for you to come crawling back to him. You lost your chance, Camille._

You know, no matter how much you hate it, that the little voice is right. And now the tears are pouring down your cheeks and you dig your nails into your skin so hard you draw blood and your lips turn a vivid shade of blue and you feel like you just want to die when a voice pulls you from the deep wells of misery.

"Excuse me? Miss? Sitting on the fallen tree? Are you okay?" You blink up through your tears to see a boy – _no, man_ – towering over you, weak sunlight filtering in around him and giving him almost a golden aura. He's got dark brown, almost black, hair and warm, inviting eyes and he's half-smirking down at you and you can't help but this feeling of deja vu that sweeps through you.

But you shake your head and manage a tear-choked laugh. "I haven't been asked that question in a little over 5 years." You say with a bitter lilt, and the man's lips twist in a look of concern, and he sits next to you. You see that he's got a pair of black hockey skates slung over his shoulder and he's clutching a hockey stick with something scribbled on the side in permanent marker. You narrow your eyes to see the scribble, and your jaw drops. _No way, no way, no freaking way!_

"Want to tell me what's on your mind?" You're pulled from your thoughts and you blink up at him, and for a moment you see Logan. But no, this guy is different. He's got to be different. You debate for a minute, chewing your lip between your teeth – it's an old habit of yours – and then you say softly, so quietly it's like it gets carried away on the wind;

"May I see your hockey stick?"

He jumps and looks at you as though he's never been asked such a ridiculous question, but he hands it over to you anyway, and you take the wood in your hands and nurse it like a child. You run your fingers over the ripples of the wood and feel your way around the curve. And when you see the scribble of black that winds its way around the base, you flip it over and bring it up to your eye.

"My name's Logan, by the way." He says next to you, and you resist the urge to scoff because, _pfft, already knew that_. But instead you ignore him and trace over the thick letters like worms. And then something glints in the corner of your eye and you can't help but look at him. It's his hand, and something's glittering up at you. Engagement ring, you think to yourself nastily, but then he begins to fiddle with it, spinning the band up so that it's facing you, and you almost choke. Because carved into the golden band is 3 little letters that mimic the exact thing on your ring.

_C+L_

"Miss? May I have my hockey stick back?" You shake your head dazedly and nod, slipping it back into his outstretched hands. "You still haven't told me your name, you know." Logan tells you with a smirk and a wink, and you grin back.

"You don't need to know my name just yet. Can I see your ring, though? It's awful pretty." It doesn't surprise you that he hasn't recognized you yet. He narrows his eyes and surveys you, and then he slides the ring off his finger and drops it into your outstretched palm. You turn it over and stare at the little letters. You read them out loud and look to him as if to say 'what do they mean?' even though you already know. He begins to pull at his heavy jacket, and prises the ring from your grip.

"Just a girl I'm in love with who I haven't seen in a while." He mumbles, looking down at the letters. Your heart speeds up but you look at him in a way of prompting. "She was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Her name was Camille. She had these beautiful brown curls that were kind of hypnotizing. And her eyes were almost the same colour as her hair, and her eyes could melt the sun. She was like a walking goddess." It feels like your heart has stopped beating rhythmically and is instead all over the place.

Does he really mean that? You ask yourself as you stare at him. He's got a look of far away-ness in his eyes, which are misting over, and you can't help but feel a bit of a smile slide over you face because his words sent a chill through your spine.

You reach over a hand and take the ring from his tight grasp, and then you remove the dog chain necklace you always wear. There's a little golden band hanging on the end with the same letters carved into the bottom. You grip your ring and Logan's, and, with his eyes watching you in interest and awe, you slowly, very slowly put the pieces together.

Logan gasps.

When he bought them for you, he made them specially designed so that they were kind of a funny shape, and they were almost incomplete, and you needed both parts for them to be complete. You stare down at them with a teary grin on your face because now it looks so much better.

"You need both pieces for it to be whole." You speak quietly, reciting what Logan said to you when he slipped the golden band on your finger all those years ago.

"Who are you?" Logan asks after a minute, and without looking at him you can tell that he's crying. You turn your head to look at him, still holding the complete ring, and your own tears slide down your cheeks. You stare at him and then it's almost like a set of bricks hit him, and he reels back.

"Millie?" He says softly, reaching out an un-gloved hand to brush it against your cheek. You can't stop the tears from dripping down your cheeks as you nod, and he emits another gasp. "You look so different."

You laugh harshly and pull away from his touch. "I could say the same thing about you." You snarl nastily, and he blinks. "I hear you're getting married. Is that right?" You demand of him, and he flinches as though you reached out and slapped him. "Is it?" You want an answer, and you want it now.

He pauses for a moment, and then he nods.

For a moment, time stops ticking and all you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears and all you can feel is your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage and you taste metallic in your mouth, and then it all comes rushing back to you like someone's hit you with a baseball bat, and you gasp and sputter for breath. Logan leaps to his feet and reaches out a hand to help you, but you beat him away.

"Hope she's everything you ever wanted." You spit, throwing the ring at his feet. You turn on your heel to stalk off because, _damn it all_, he won't see you cry. But his voice stops you.

"She's not. You are."

You spin back toward him, ignoring the tears that flow freely down your rosy pink cheeks. "Well, she's the best you got, isn't she? Because you're not getting me back!" And you're gone, running through the snow-blanketed forest. At the top of the hill that leads to the pond, you lean against a tree, begin to sob and try to slip the ring back onto the silver chain. With fumbling fingers you clasp the necklace back up on your neck, push your hair out of your eyes and walk into the street.

You catch a cab back to your hotel room, book the next flight back to LA, and by the time morning rolls around, you're halfway back to your home. You sit at the window seat – some idiot traded with you and now she's puking in one of the bathroom stalls because without the window seat she gets sick but she won't take it back – and watch as pristine white Minnesota disappears beneath you, and you wipe away at a single tear that escapes from your eye.

When you get back to LA, your best friend Lucy is waiting in the airport, her red streaks standing out in contrast to the people surrounding her. Without even thinking, you run at her and fling your arms around her and sob into her neck and she holds you close. In the car ride home, it's silent and the air is full of tension you can cut with a knife.

She doesn't ask why you're home, she doesn't ask what happened to you or if you saw Logan, she doesn't want to know why you're so emotionally destroyed or anything like that. But you're glad when she sneaks into your room at night after hearing you sob for an hour and she holds you close and whispers in your ear and tells you it's going to be okay even though you know that's a filthy lie because just having her there makes you feel better.

Your phone rings with unknown numbers and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that James, Kendall and Carlos found a way to get to your phone number, and after all three of them have called 6 times, Lucy finally picks up the phone, snarls into it, "Stop calling her, she's not coming back," and flips it shut.

The phone calls stop after that. They were always just a little scared of Lucy.

You don't leave your room for almost a week because it's nice to be back in the familiarity of it all with the peeling paint and the picture of you, Logan, Carlos, Kendall, James and Lucy taped to the back of your door. You haven't spoken to Jo in longer than you haven't spoken to the boys, and it's like your blonde best friend never existed.

One day, when you're burrowed deep into the covers of your bedroom, you hear the doorbell ring, and Lucy answers it and you hear scream in surprise, but then you hear her shout and scream in anger and you swear you hear the word 'Logan' but you can't be entirely sure. And then, Lucy, just before she slams the door shut, she shrieks, "IT'S YOUR FAULT SHE'S SO EMOTIONALLY DESTROYED!" and then the door slams shut and the whole apartment shakes and Lucy's in your room with her own eyes ringed in red and she looks maniac and scary. She crawls into bed with you and you hold each other and you both cry, your tears mingled together.

There's a reason you don't go to Minnesota anymore.


End file.
